


Sky Is Gonna Say Your Name

by SkyHighDisco



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Drama, FIFA World Cup 2018, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hala Madrid, Hurt/Comfort, La Liga, Luka needs a hug, Marcelo is a sweetheart, Not one but a million, Real Madrid CF, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 04:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15922700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyHighDisco/pseuds/SkyHighDisco
Summary: Luka is back from the World Cup, and things only seem to go down from there. Luckily, his teammates are there to help.





	Sky Is Gonna Say Your Name

**Author's Note:**

> _Patrick Lenk – Cry to the Heaven_ ; somebody please make a Real Madrid video featuring this song, I'm dying here.

Walking seldom repressed the feeling his head was being crushed by a migraine. Someone as physically active as him shouldn't have a lot of problems with it, and it was true, but today, since waking up, seemed argumentatively underlined by it to be the bad day.

Luka sighed rubbing his eyes once again, unable to specify how many times he had done so already this morning. He liked to think he had slept alright, that he was stronger than being kept awake at night by troublesome worries, but a man wasn't meant to be ever strong. They were just another mortal race, prone to succumbing to stress as much as any other, even the immunity-healthy of a kind like him. And the immune system doesn't do good when it comes to formal controversy.

Lopetegui's utterly moronic justification before the press just pissed him off, and Perez was a money-crazed idiot. Basically the entire world couldn't be fooled faced with the obvious fact No. 1 — he was taking revenge over the Croatian's near transfer to Inter and to go along, the player's insistence on salary increase as well, but let's be honest, if it was anybody else in Luka's stead, would they do any different? Benching him was just a subtle equivalent to a middle finger and a sweetly-voiced ''That's right. To remind you of your place. You belong to us and no amount of defiance is going to change that.

Right. We'll see who's gonna be a 75th-minute-entrance errand boy when _Los Blancos_ start tumbling down the _La Liga_ list. Not firmly because of him, no; Luka would never admit his supreme importance, not to himself, not to anyone, but it was crucial for them to function as a real team, and Luka always wanted only the best for it, so if it meant his contribution would be of help, he will do it without a moment's hesitation.

At times like these, Real Madrid deserves all help it can get.

Luka stepped out onto the sun-bathed field and the glum thoughts had outstayed their welcome, for he was instantly greeted.

„There he is! Refreshed and whole."

The Croatian grinned at heartfully-smiling Marcelo, hiding his worries at the back of his head because that was Marcelo; you couldn't fake a smile in his presence. It was just there. So it wasn't for no reason that the younger was fondly called the ray of sunshine of Real Madrid.

„Heads up. You have no right looking sullen."

Modrić slapped his palms against the Brazilian's offered ones and was immediately pulled in a warm inavoidable bear hug, not spared a kiss on the cheek along the way, either. He chuckled. Trust Marcelo to lift every mood, anywhere.

„Apologies, Highness", he said into the jersey-clad shoulder, embracing his friend back firmly.

That seemed good enough for the left defender of Madrid. When he backed away, the Brazilian didn't ask anything, and Luka was grateful. He was always like that. Marce will offer comfort, but won't push. One of his many precious virtues is that he won't stick his nose in other people's business unless they allow him to priorly.

„Are you ready?" he asked.

„For what?" the facility doors shut somewhere several meters behind Luka's back.

„The training, no?"

Luka snorted. ˮThat's not even a real question."

„How no?"

„We are Real Madrid, we are always supposed to be ready for everything. That's our duty as the king's men."

Marcelo laughed. ˮThen you'll forgive me for checking out on my big brother."

„There's nothing to be checking out on, I'm always ready."

„Don't listen to him", disagreed another voice from behind. A pair of strong arms wrapped around Luka's upper front and the Croatian was pulled back against no less strong chest while a familiar Welsh accent settled beside his ear. ˮLeave him on an island and he won't last ten minutes."

Unable to not grin like a maniac, Luka covered one forearm with both of his hands. ˮYou wanna bet?"

„Don't need to, you don't have that kind of money."

„Ugh- _\- Gaz!_ " Marcelo yelped.

Gareth must've figured a couple of Luka's last words when he joined the conversation because now it was forced to steer to English. While Bale's Spanish was weak, he was far from stupid, and as one of his best friends, he was going to use every given opportunity to bully the Croatian.

One of the large arms untangles itself from the prison of Luka's hands and shifts to the top of his head. ˮLook at him! He's no taller than an average Hawaiian."

„Hawaiian are short?" Marcelo snickered in disbelief.

„It's not in the height, it's in legs", Luka said and lifted one of those accordingly, showing off the impressive calves some footballers could only dream about. ˮAnd they can kick your ass to the end of the field."

While the former Tottenham duo giggled, Marcelo was rubbing his chin pensively, a frown of same nature wrinkling his forehead. ˮBut... Hawaii _is_ an island."

„So?"

„So... he _could_ last, if he's short." 

Gareth's arm was already back where it was before in a familiar position, locked under Luka's collarbone, as if having its own form of persuasion that, should it let go, the Croatian will use the chance to walk away. ˮOn which planet does that make sense?"

„I don't know, you started it."

„And I have no idea what you both are talking about, so if you'll excuse us all, we have training to do", Luka chided purportedly and gently but firmly tried to pry Gareth's arms off. Of course, it was a losing battle, so Luka didn't even try a more concrete effort, but Gaz got the message. Before he did, though, he allowed himself to lower his hands down Luka's abdomen and wiggle his fingers a little, emitting struggles and giggles from his shorter friend, and, after finally letting go, a punch to the shoulder as well. While they were in the Spurs, Gareth kept a fond memory of how the Croatian hated when he was succumbed to such indignity.

„Isn't that _your_ duty to say, as a vice-captain, vice-captain?" Luka asked Marcelo in Spanish again, after Bale had run off ahead to join the rest of the team who have already gathered throughout their pointless conversation; his once-looped man bun skipped joyously on the top of his head as he went to Casemiro who called him over.

„I'm still getting used to it, if you don't mind me", Marcelo winked.

  
  


Work was always a welcome distraction and Luka was amazed by its effectiveness. It would seem that only by being preoccupied could one's head momentarily ditch the stress. On training, much like the game, there was only ball. And eyes were on the ball, always. He managed a couple of good passes that even left _him_ surprised and between that and Ramos' praise that followed, the day seemed to be finally steering upwards.

Among everything, the Croatian captain assumed he wanted to believe neither Perez nor Lopetegui were serious about those discreet discussions. Well, it was generally known that wanting to believe something is one thing.

It didn't take another day for another impact. When he found out he wasn't going to be among starting eleven (again), he took it in, although with a required effort even as he was known to keep his cool the best among his teammates. Sitting on the bench and watching Girona crumble under the foot-canon of Bale and Karim's swift curves of the ball trajectory, however, Luka couldn't suppress the impression Thibaut Courtois didn't feel any different to his left.

But when his time to enter had come, it wasn't at the beginning of the second half. Not even the middle of it. Luka only got the green light in the final thirteen minutes of the game, and he had half mind to launch the ball towards their new coach's face from his midfielder position the moment he ran out. The stadium cheering somewhat soothed the temptation.

The fact that the victory was already secured without the penalties taken in consideration, none of them felt particularly overjoyed regarding their victory. It was only to be expected from the royal club. The crowd noises sunk to the muttered hum in Luka's ears.

When he entered the tunnel a few minutes later, being held back by a club manager, all his teammates were already there. And so was Lopetegui.

Modrić's vision turned red and he headed forward on strong feet like an agitated bull, feeling all the unspent strength surge through his powered-up legs. Their coach didn't suspect a thing. He was turned sideways from him, discussing something with their physical trainer. Good. When he gets there from then on, Luka wasn't going to be responsible for his actions.

There was someone up there who wanted Sergio Ramos to notice him, take a hold of a situation, regard it with no longer than a fourth of the second glance and immediately intercept the shorter one.

„Move away Sergio“, the Croatian growled, eyes blazing.

„No“, Ramos shook his head. ˮI know that look and I know what you're going to do.“ That wasn't the whole truth. Sese didn't know where that look came from because he never saw it in Luka's eyes before. And it scared him. Perhaps it was a Croatian feature, for he remembered noticing the same gleam years prior in the eyes of one Mario Mandžukić.

„Good. Then you get the front seat“, Luka seethed through gritted teeth and tried pushing past his friend, but Ramos' strong palms pressed against the insides of his shoulders, like a living imitation of a brick wall. Both forces shoved against each other and Luka looked up, confusion and anger interloping in some weird dance across his emaciated face.

„I won't let you“, Ramos said decisively. ˮThis isn't you Luka. This isn't the midfielder everyone else is looking up to.“

Luka didn't resist when the hands on his shoulders pushed firmly and he walked backward on autopilot. The eyes he kept locked against his initial target who was getting distant. Still completely oblivious of the push-and-pull pair.

Sergio gestured with an open palm to Marcelo who saw there was something going on and began to walk over, but paused in place and offered a brisk nod of acknowledgement once shown it was fine. The Real captain gave the same hold-of-the-situation look to Gareth, who noticed the tumult. He was less acceptant, but didn't oppose when Marcelo gripped his elbow and began quietly speaking to him while pulling him away.

However, when Sese looked at the shorter figure before him, Luka was still shooting glares over the Spaniard's shoulder. Frowning, Ramos gave his shoulders a squeeze, making sure it caused a pinch of pain, enough to gather the Croatian's attention. There it was again. That taken-aback/angry stare.

„Brother I'm begging you. Stop. For the name of God, _you're_ meant to be the situation calmer because you seem to have the most sense of the lot of us!“

The look in Luka's eyes suddenly changed. Like he reclaimed his full consciousness that was somehow plundered. The angry part was completely gone, replaced by a glimmer the Spaniard was well familiar with, which brought him an unexpected surge of tremendous relief. Sergio released him with a nasal exhale, closing his eyes for a moment to consider the further words.

He looked at Luka. ˮMany times before a wise friend stopped me from doing a number of reckless things“, he paused, eyes openly pleading. ˮDon't let me watch the same friend get kicked out for doing the same. Please. We'll figure this out, Lukita, eh? Things are gonna settle. They always do.“

While the features of Luka's face demanded it be difficult to decipher exactly what he was thinking, Sergio had known the man opposite him long enough to learn to discern the miniature differences in every wrinkle or a twitch the Croatian even unconsciously did. That close they were, Luka and Sese, and it didn't allow them to unsee some things they have learned to distinguish. There was little they could hide from each other; Ramos' predicted saved penalty from Euro 2016. was probably the palpable proof neither of them had ever said out loud. Therefore it should be of little surprise that Sergio knew how, even as he was trying to hide what he was thinking (and so it was most of the time), Luka wasn't entirely convinced in the words he was given. So Sergio didn't stop here.

He sighed. ˮYou said to me once that there is no need to show the way. That you'll always be by my side... I want that, too, _hermano_ , which means you shouldn't go about your problems all by yourself. Let us help you. We are Real Madrid. We are family, no?“

Luka was still silent, but listening.

„When Cris left—“ Ramos pressed his lips together so abruptly that his teeth clattered and screeched against each other under the pressure of the jaw. Sergio minded to take one calculated breath before continuing. ˮWhen Zizou left, they... it was a grand punch for the most of us, and never before was a finale so difficult to play...“ He paused. ˮRemember what you told us after we lost the Supercup from Atlético?“

Modrić shifted on his feet at this, circling his eyes anywhere but on Sergio, biting the inside of his cheek and the Spaniard could see the emotions flicker over his face clear as day, but it didn't stop the flow of his words: ˮI remember the exact moment. The dressing room was almost silent. I haven't heard something like that in a long time. Lopetegui was not even with us. He was nowhere near... and I honestly didn't even care. I also didn't know what the hell I was supposed to say. Imagine that; a captain, not capable to console his own men. Heh...“ It was a humorless scoff. “If there was the biggest loser that day that was me, and no scored penalty should be an excuse... But you did that for me, no?“

Luka decided it was time to ease this one-sided conversation by finally locking his own eyes against Ramos' and giving a nod. Of coruse he remembered. God graced him with a brilliant memory, and this was one of the milestones making it impossible to ever be forgotten, he was sure of it. His olfactory senses gave way to allegorical time travel weeks prior. Suddenly, he was back in the locker room reeking of sweat and dirt with the rest of his teammates pressed by a deafening silence, heavy as a palpable barrier halfway from the ceiling. Sounds of opposing Madrid club celebration tried to penetrate through the door from outside, but failed to intercept anyone's awareness.

There was an occasional cough, a sniff and sloshing of water inside the tipped-back bottles. But no voice whatsoever. Like the king's voice died off forever that evening. Up until—

 _„Never before have I missed Zizou's voice as much as I do now“, said Benzema quietly, looking at no one. No one spared him a look, either. Karim just verbally stated what was in all their minds._

_Luka stared at a piece of confetti he was twirling between his fingers. It reminded him of Ema; she adored those shiny little air-dancers and after each their victory she would run around the pitch trying to catch them like falling snow, and then bring fistfuls of them to daddy, overjoyed gleam in her eyes. One which could only be constructed at magical culminating moments like these and which made Luka want to squish her adorable cheeks, heart filled with uncontainable love. Now that the circumstances weren't in their favor, the only thing Luka could do was grip himself to the point of internal bleeding to keep an assuring smile for her, but right after their temporary departure, it slid off his face quicker than he realized it did._

_„Or one of Cris' catapults“, Marcelo muttered. Even his hair wasn't sticking out as merrily as it would use to._

_The confetti came to an abrupt stop. Luka trapped it between the ring finger and the hooked thumb, belting the middle finger with it like a thin gleaming piece of accessory. ˮRonaldo does not make Madrid.“_

_The Croatian mumbled it under his breath, but here it bounced off the walls clearly enough for all heads to turn his way._

_Even before looking around, Luka was aware of this. He didn't want to speak further, he really didn't. He wasn't supposed to be the one who talks. But the words came out on their own._

_„Zinedine defines Real Madrid just as much as loss defines this team.“_

_He saw Ramos straighten up from the corner of his eye and on his skin he could feel his gaze shift from defeated to something else. Luka realized that it was completely too late to back away now because all the attention was on him. And contrary to his modest, unselfish, generous will, his mouth kept working._

_„Of thirty three Ligas this club has won, how many did Cristiano lead us to? Three. You think the previous generations clawed for Ronaldo?“_

_Marcelo blinked, shoulders tipping back, but instead of feeling offended for his best friend, and now an ex-colleague, his eyes radiated increscent wonder at the speaker._

_Luka proved to be far from finished. ˮFour years ago in Lisbon, when we were losing all until the tight end against_ this same team _outside, who secured us the pass to the extra time?_ El capitán _. Who charged through the rows of Atlético defense flawlessly to center a perfect ball on our striker's head to pass it over the 2018 World Cup Golden Glove winner's head and into the net? Di María. Our brilliant bold striker? Gareth Bale.“_

_The factor that Modrić referred to him with a full name accompanied with a hand gesture made Gareth's lips lift enough to let the glumness know its job was done for the day._

_„And who paused there for a second, ten minutes before the end, and then flipped everything over his shoulder and ran through another hole in defense headlessly not even caring what might come of it? You, Marce.“_

_A genuine smile from the Brazilian, this one notably more convincing than Bale's._

_„And where was Cris?“ Luka waved somewhere indefinitely. He had no idea when he stood up. ˮThere, securing us a penalty score four to one even while we had three glorious ones behind already. I'm not saying he didn't earn us some major successes, some which were decisive, and he truly is one of the best players who will ever mark the history and whom I've ever had a pleasure to work with — but he does not make Real Madrid._ We _do. We, on the field, and on the bench just the same, we are equally important._

_Asensio, you... without you, we wouldn't have so many ideal God-given opportunities. And Karim, who is to give into attempts to put the ball where it belongs if not you? Sergio, brother, you could go back and forth the entire field for 120 minutes and not get tired. Toni, nobody sends that ball between the halves from front to rear and in reverse better than you. I never feel like whatever I did on the field is gonna be for nothing when I'm leaving my place on the pitch for you, Isco. And most importantly, we would never get anywhere without Keylor on our gates. He who jumps at every projectile that dares to approach anywhere near sixteen meters and sends it back out._

_I ask you now: is there Zidane among those people? He helped build us a bridge, but we walked over it and now our duty is to continue stepping on. Is there Ronaldo, at this moment, among those people?_

_Gentlemen... this is our mentality, it's who we are really trained to be. We have to stay strong because everybody loses. Not even the sponsor of the king himself can polish that fact. But the most important thing, we_ never _give up. If we stick together and fight as a team, if we remain strong and willing... we will win._

_I ask you—are we not Real Madrid?“_

_Every last bedazzled head staring in the direction of the Croatian maestro could be right away placed to a kindergarten because those looks were only how little children looked at their idols. Luka's words could be physically felt and if you outstretched your hand to enclose a fist, it wouldn't find empty air, but the Croatian's voice._

_Several mesmerized, firm ˮyes“-es. Not firm or loud enough in the midfielder's opinion._

„Are we not Real Madrid?!“ _his strong yell ripped the air apart._

 _The former_ piano _has become_ forte _in a trice and in that moment, it looked like_ they _had won this match. Fists pierced the air, bottles were thrown across the room, voices arose, present, determined, full, final and at last free of the talons of loss. Predictability indicated there be at least one_ ˮ¡Hala Madrid!“ _The silence, utterly defeated, was chased out through the closed door of the dressing room, vanishing out of existence._

 _And then it started. That infernal_ ˮLuka, Luka, Modrić! Modrić!“ _chant the Madridistas tended to spread like a heatwave around Bernabeu more and more often and all of a sudden, Luka was engulfed by his teammates. They patted and embraced him like he just scored a bicycle kick from the center and he couldn't help but laugh along with them and dip his head in a well-familiar embarrassment when his teammates still kept leaving out that_ 'ć' _at the end, because why would they bother? Croatian last names were a pain in the ass, and everybody knew that._

 _Among the hubbub, Sergio found him and immediately wound a hand around his neck, drawing their foreheads close to touch._ ˮEl cielo dirá tu nombre, hermano“ _, he managed, straining to say it clearly and loudly enough while his throat was tight from scattered emotions. The only thing Luka managed was a gasped laugh as he pressed his forehead more firmly against Ramos' own, shutting out the rest of the world, like their ravaging, jumping colleagues didn't exist._

„I have to admit, I had half a mind to hand you the armband over right then and there“, Sergio chuckled back in the present. The tunnel has completely emptied, with only a murmur in the background letting the pair know the world hasn't disappeared completely.

„You may not know this, Lukita, but you awoke something in us then that still hasn't died out. Real Madrid needs you more than ever, and even the fans know that. You always had this kind of charm that could make people love you. _And_ listen. You proved _me_ wrong when we first met, remember?“

Luka scoffed softly. He remembered, of course he did. It was odd how starting off on the wrong foot could evolve into a friendship of this kind. The effect was usually completely opposite.

„And this is why you are the captain“, Luka said, voice scratchy from being withheld for a longer period. He cleared his throat. ˮYour duty is to put us back in the line.“

Sergio laughed, glad to see his friend back to his old self more than he thought. He wound an arm around the Croatian's shoulders and they strode for the dressing room together. ˮYou'll see, brother. Things are gonna sit at their proper place. Everything will be right.“

„... Thank you, Sese.“

And Sergio knew he meant a lot more than those two simple words indicated. ˮAlways.“

  
  


_„Lukita Balon de Oro! Balon de O-ro! Lukita Balon de Oro!“_

Luka Modrić trusted Sergio Ramos more than he trusted anyone in the team, even over Marcelo and Gareth, and perhaps just because of the fact that opposites attract. Sergio was impulsive, vicious and often impatient. He knew just as well as Luka did that he needed the Croatian's guidelines in the shape of every virtue Sergio might be leaving out. They needed each other like hydrogen and oxygen.

But Luka never expected his friend to be this right. What the Spaniard had said had indeed come to light before his own, and before the eyes of the whole world.

Too struck to even manage a proper smile for the audience, Luka lifted his awards, not because he wanted to, but because he was expected to. He always meant when he said he would hand over all individual awards for the collective ones of the entire team in a blink. Leganes applauded dutifully while him, Ramos and Navas stood for a brief photo session with their newest possessions.

He glanced sideways at Sergio who winked stealthily, and he didn't need to speak to confirm the mute translation to the Croatian. _See?_

In that moment, despite being the shortest of the three, Luka felt taller than he had ever felt in whole life.


End file.
